Chapter 38
Eric
The first snow came quietly. Not the full winter drop Val-Du-Lys usually got in December, but a thin, hesitant dusting that softened everything it touched: the orchard rows, the ridge trail, the porch railings.
It made Maple Valley look like a peaceful winter postcard, serene and delicate, though beneath the white the ground was still shifting.
I stood on the back steps with a mug of coffee, breath fogging the air as I watched flakes melt into the earth.
The cold bit sharper than last week, the kind that warned the season was about to turn.
Harmony stepped outside beside me, pulling her sweater tighter.
Her cheeks were pink from sleep, her eyes softer than they had been in days.
Still tired, still carrying too much weight for one person, but steadier. Or maybe just better at pretending.
“You’re up early,” she murmured.
“So are you.”
A faint smile tugged at her lips. “Couldn’t sleep.”
I didn’t push. Sleep had been unreliable for both of us since the loft. Since SableFox. Since the feeling of being watched lodged itself beneath her skin. Instead, I handed her my mug. She took a slow sip and leaned into my shoulder. For a breath, the silence felt almost normal.
The back door opened again, and Becket stepped out, hoodie up, phone pressed to his ear. His expression was carved from stone.
“Yeah,” he said tightly. “Send it to my private line. Not the station. And don’t put anything in writing unless I tell you.”
Harmony stiffened beside me.
Becket lowered the phone. His gaze flicked to us, then away.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
A hesitation, small but sharp, cracked across his features. The detective in him wanted control. The brother in him wanted to shield us. For a second, neither won.
“A new batch of filings came through for Marcel’s appeal,” he said. “They were sealed. Now they’re not.”
Harmony’s breath hitched. A full second passed before she inhaled again. It was the kind of stillness that came from old obedience, old fear.
“Meaning…?” she whispered.
“Someone is pushing the process,” he replied grimly. “It’s moving faster than it should be.”
The snow suddenly felt colder.
I swallowed. “What does that mean for Harmony?”
Becket’s jaw clenched. “Pieces are moving. I just don’t know yet if they belong to the same puzzle.”
Harmony’s voice softened, but steadied. “Becket… that’s really ambiguous. I need you to lay it out for me.”
Another hesitation flickered through him, longer this time, heavier. He wasn’t just the detective now. He was the brother who didn’t know how to tell us the storm was already forming.
Finally, he exhaled. “There are names being circulated again. People connected to Marcel’s operations. Some expected. But one name shouldn’t be there.”
Harmony’s pulse kicked beneath my fingers.
“Whose?” she whispered.
Becket shook his head once, firm. “Not until I verify it. If I’m wrong, I put suspicion on someone who doesn’t deserve it. And if I’m right… you’re not ready to hear it.”
Harmony folded slightly inward, bracing for a blow she didn’t know yet.
“And there’s movement on the tech side,” he added.
My stomach dropped. “SableFox?”
“No direct messages since the loft,” Becket said. “But someone’s testing the relay again. It’s subtle but persistent. They’re probing for weak points.”
Harmony swallowed. “So they know I haven’t logged back in.”
“Exactly. They’re waiting.”
Waiting. The word crawled under my skin.
Becket shoved his phone in his pocket. “Dad’s making a sweep near the old festival grounds.”
Harmony blinked. “The festival ended days ago.”
“That’s the problem,” Becket said. “It’s empty now. Less foot traffic. Easier for someone to move around without being noticed. Someone tall with their hood up and a dark coat was spotted near the vendor storage area last night.”
A cold ripple moved through Harmony. “You think it was Tremblay?”
“We don’t know,” Becket replied. “But whoever it was knew exactly which cameras were dead. Which means they’d been there before.”
Harmony wrapped her arms around herself. I stepped behind her, rubbing slow circles along her arms. She leaned back into me like she was trying to anchor herself.
“Where’s Dad now?” I asked.
“Running the south trail and the old festival path,” Becket said. “He’ll loop the ridge after. Snow makes footprints easier to track… and people easier to lose.”
My gaze drifted toward the tree line beyond the orchard. The shadows felt too still. Too deliberate.
Harmony watched the same spot. “It’s really happening, isn’t it? Marcel’s appeal.”
“Yeah,” I said softly. “It is.”
“And if he gets out…” Her voice thinned.
I tangled my fingers with hers. “He won’t touch you. Not again.”
She didn’t answer. Didn’t nod. Didn’t breathe for a moment.
Her eyes stayed locked on the ridgeline, snow drifting around her like the start of a storm.
“Eric?” she whispered.
“Hmm?”
“Do you ever feel like someone’s… waiting? Just out of sight?”
A shiver crawled down my spine.
“Yeah,” I murmured, pulling her closer. “Yeah, Sunshine, I do.”
She leaned into me, but her stare stayed fixed on the orchard and the ridge beyond, not afraid but clearly sensing something.
Calculating something. Preparing for something.
The back door creaked open again. Dad stepped outside, his shoulders dusted with snow, with a radio clipped to his belt.
He looked tired in a way I didn’t see often; it wasn’t physical, but something deeper.
The kind of tired that settled behind the ribs.
His gaze landed on Harmony first, softening before shifting to me.
“Becket filled me in,” he said quietly. “Both of you inside.” He was clearly in police director mode with that tone.
Harmony nodded and slipped into the house. But he stopped me with a hand on my arm before I could follow.
For a second we just stood there, snow drifting between us.
“Eric,” he said, voice low, rougher than usual. “I need you sharp right now.”
“I am,” I answered.
He studied me the way he used to before hockey games when I was ten and trembling too hard to tighten my skates. The way a father looks at a son and sees everything he won’t say out loud.
“You love that girl,” he murmured.
It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even an observation. It was a truth he was setting in my hands like a warning.
My jaw tightened. “Yeah. I do.”
Dad exhaled, slow and heavy. “Then you protect her. Even from herself if you have to.”
“I know.”
His voice dropped even lower. “She runs toward fire. You run into it after her. That’s how you’re built. But this. . .” He gestured out toward the orchard, the ridge, the shadowed tree line. “This isn’t a brushfire, Son. This is a man who’s spent decades building monsters who obey.”
Marcel. The name hovered unsaid, but we both felt it.
“If Marcel’s appeal moves forward… if people he worked with start circling…” Dad paused, swallowing something that looked too much like fear. “This town has seen darkness before. But not like the kind he brought into it.”
I nodded. “I won’t let anything happen to her.”
Dad’s throat bobbed. The snow kept falling, quiet and relentless.
“I know you won’t,” he said finally. “That’s what scares me.”
The words hit me in the chest. He wasn’t doubting me. He was afraid of what it would cost.
He squeezed my shoulder, firm and grounding. “Stay close. Don’t give her room to slip off alone. That girl… she’s planning something. I can feel it.”
I swallowed hard. “I know.”
“Good.” Dad released me.
When I finally followed Harmony inside, his words stayed lodged under my skin,
tightening everything I already feared. The danger wasn’t approaching. It was already here.